The King Tides

Chapter 7 Domino’s Delivers

“Not all superheroes wear capes.” That had been the tagline for a Domino’s Pizza advertising campaign that Lancaster had always liked. He’d liked it so much that he’d purchased a Domino’s deliveryman’s uniform, cap, and thermal insulated pizza bag from a seller on eBay and kept them in the trunk of his car for jobs where he needed a disguise. The uniform was a bad fit, and made his belly look more pronounced than it actually was.

Melbourne was a town of quiet streets and modest houses. Nimbs’s place was small and unassuming, and Lancaster parked in front and left the engine running and the headlights on, just like a regular Domino’s driver would do. Before getting out, he texted the FDLE agents helping him, and got an immediate reply. The cavalry was ready. He texted back:

Getting out of the car, he straightened the cap that didn’t want to stay put on his head, then took the pizza bag off the back seat and balanced it on his upturned palm as he headed up the front path. A quick glance told him everything he needed to know about their suspect’s state of mind. Weeds instead of grass, litter in the bushes, a mailbox stuffed with yellowing flyers. Nimbs was a loser.

But that didn’t mean Nimbs didn’t have street smarts. Underestimating a suspect’s cunning had cost more than one law enforcement officer his life. Reaching the front stoop, he removed a slip of paper from his pocket and held it up to his face, as if checking the address. Just in case there was a hidden surveillance camera under an eave.

The front porch light came on before he could knock. The door opened a foot, and Nimbs stuck his ugly puss out. He’d lost his upper front teeth since his mug shot and looked like a gargoyle. His breath reeked of beer and reefer.

“Hi. Thanks for ordering Domino’s Pizza,” he said with a smile.

“I didn’t order a fucking pizza,” Nimbs said.

He squinted at the piece of paper in his hand. “Is this 1249 Rachel?”

“Yeah. Like I said, I didn’t order no fucking pizza.”

“I’m sorry, sir. We got an order for a large meat lover’s and an order of garlic knots for this address. I guess one of your neighbors was playing a prank.”

“My neighbors are assholes. Aren’t you a little old to be delivering pizzas?”

“It pays the bills. Look, if you don’t take it, I’ll have to throw it out. It just came out of the oven ten minutes ago. You want it?”

“Free?”

“I’ll charge you half.”

“Up yours.”

“All right, you can have it for free. I’m not going to eat it.”

“Why — is there something wrong with it?”

“If you smelled pizza all day long, you’d get sick of it too.” He unzipped the pouch and pulled out an empty box. Nimbs dropped his guard and swung open the door. A clear view of the inside presented itself, and Lancaster spied a tactical shotgun leaning against the wall plus several pistols lying on different tables around the room.

The sound of the back door being hit with a battering ram shattered the silence. Not being a cop had its advantages. He didn’t have to identify himself, nor did he have to give any warning. Reaching behind his back, he drew the Sig Sauer from where it was tucked in his pants, and aimed it at Nimbs’s chest.

“Hands behind your head.”

Nimbs did as told. “Aren’t you going to read me my rights?”

No one was paying him to follow the law or obey its rules, and he drove his foot into his suspect’s groin. Nimbs yelped and sank to his knees.

“Good boy.”

Nimbs wore a wife-beater T-shirt, and his arms were covered with tattoos. The one proclaiming him to be a member of the American Foundation caught Lancaster’s eye. American Foundation was a notorious sovereign-citizen group, which didn’t believe in the government or the rule of law. He pressed the Sig’s barrel against Nimbs’s nose.

“Is the back of your house booby-trapped?”

Nimbs’s eyes flashed, but he said nothing.

“Tell me, or I’ll decorate the walls with your brains.”

“There’s a trip wire in the kitchen,” Nimbs said.

“What’s it attached to?”

“A hand grenade.”

He pistol-whipped Nimbs and sent him sprawling on his back. Then he ran down a hallway to the kitchen to see FDLE Special Agent Tim Byrne and his SWAT team taking down the fortified back door and coming toward him.

“Kitchen’s booby-trapped,” he shouted.

Byrne and company beat a hasty retreat. He ran back to the front of the house to find Nimbs crawling on his belly down the front path like a slug. Instead of grabbing one of his guns and shooting it out, he’d fled like a coward.

“I’m back.”

Nimbs stopped crawling and covered his head with his arms. “Don’t shoot me.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know what—”

A sharp kick to the kidney silenced him. “I won’t ask you again. I want to know where Janey MacKenzie is, and if the room where you’re hiding her is booby-trapped.” When an answer was not forthcoming, he knelt down and shoved the Sig’s barrel into the crack of his suspect’s ass. It was an old SEAL trick that produced immediate results.

“I’m going to count to three. One. Two.”

“There’s a secret sliding wall in the bedroom closet,” Nimbs said, his voice trembling with fear. “She’s behind it. It’s not wired.”

“Are there any other booby traps in the house?” he asked.

“No.”

The barrel was shoved in another inch. “Don’t lie to me.”

“So help me God it’s the truth.”

“God isn’t helping you.”

“There ain’t any more.”

The SWAT team surrounded them, and Lancaster climbed off Nimbs and hurried inside. The house had a shotgun layout, and he found the lone bedroom off the hallway and switched on an overhead light. Piles of dirty clothes littered the floor. His eyes searched for another booby trap, and he only entered after determining it was safe.

The closet door was ajar. He entered and rapped on the walls until he found one that was hollow. By pressing on the wall with his palms, he made it slide to one side. He moved down a corridor to a small space with a bare bulb dangling from the ceiling.

“Sweet Jesus,” he whispered.

Janey lay on her side on a cot, naked. Her eyes were closed, and she wasn’t breathing. Nimbs had grown tired of her, and tied a noose around her neck and threaded the rope down her back, binding her wrists and ankles. As her muscles had cramped, her legs had straightened to relieve themselves of the pain, leading to self-strangulation.

His eyes burning, he cut the ropes away with his pocket knife. The image of Mrs. Dotson waiting on her couch flashed through his mind. How was he going to break the news to her? He didn’t know. As he pulled the rope away, a soft gurgling sound escaped from Janey’s throat. He grabbed her shoulders and gave them a gentle shake. Her eyes snapped open, and she looked fearfully around the room, then at him. He removed his cap and placed it on the floor.

“Hi, Janey. My name is Jon, and I’m a private investigator. Your grandmother hired me to find you. How do you feel?”

“He hurt me,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry, Janey. He’s not going to hurt you anymore.”

The SWAT team had entered the bedroom, and Byrne was calling his name. He didn’t want them to see Janey like this, so he unbuttoned his shirt and draped it over her. She curled up beneath its protection, her eyes fixed on his belly. She slowly lifted her arm and he let her fingers touch his hairless stomach.

“Feels like rocks,” she whispered.

He followed the ambulance to the Holmes Regional Medical Center and hung around the ER until a silver-haired doctor came out to the waiting room and spoke to him. Janey had been physically and sexually abused. But she had a strong will and would come out of this intact, the doctor said, thinking Lancaster was a relative. They shook hands and he left.

Shelia Dotson lived in a cinder-block house with a light burning brightly in the front window. Parking at the curb, he got out. It was late, and a neighbor’s dog barked because it had nothing better to do. He walked across the lawn to the front window and peeked inside. His client was asleep in a wingback chair while Christian Worship Hour saved souls on the TV. He didn’t want to startle her, so he called her number. Through the window he saw the cell phone in her lap light up. She snapped out of a deep slumber and raised the cell phone to stare at the caller ID. A look of shock registered on her face.

“Jon, is that you?” she answered.

“It sure is,” he said.

“Oh my God, there’s a man at my front window.”

“It’s me, Mrs. Dotson. I’m standing outside your house.”

The elderly woman sprang out of her chair and approached the window. A pair of bifocals hung around her neck, and she fitted them on her nose.

“You have news about my granddaughter,” she said.

“I do indeed.”

A split second later she was outside, huddled beside him. She was small and brittle, the top of her head barely reaching his chest. In a trembling voice she said, “You’re smiling. My sweet Janey is alive, isn’t she?”

“Alive and kicking. I just left her at the hospital.”

Her hands were balled into fists, and she brought them to her mouth. “Is she hurt? Please don’t lie to me.”

“She’s been through hell and back, but the doctor I spoke to says she’s strong and should heal. Now go put some clothes on. Your granddaughter needs you.”

“I’ll do that. Wait. I’m not allowed to drive at night.”

“I’ll give you a lift. You can Uber it home in the morning.”

“I feel like I should pinch myself. Do you know what happened earlier tonight? I was watching a sermon on The 70 °Club. The preacher was reading the gospel of Matthew, and he said, ‘If you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer.’ The words gave me strength, so I got down on my knees and prayed to the Lord Jesus that you would find Janey and that she’d be alive. To help things along, I went online to Walmart.com and picked out new utensils and dinnerware for your kitchen.”

“You already bought them?”

“I most certainly did. They’ll be delivered in a few days.”

He struggled for something to say. Janey had nearly died tonight. What would he have done if that had happened? Send the utensils and dinnerware back?

“I guess your prayers were answered,” he said.

“They most certainly were. Let me go throw some clothes on.” She went to the door, then came back. A confused look spread across her face.

“What’s an Uber?” she asked.

“I’ll explain during the ride,” he said.